My back was rigid. My hand fell to my side. No. She wouldn’t come here, not now…
I turned slowly. Hoping I was imagining things. It is my tired mind playing tricks on me, surely. She stood in the center of the room, her head tilted upward so she could look down at me over her nose. Her gown was violet with folds of velvet and intricate beading on the bodice. Her blond hair was braided into a cornet on top of her head. She looked composed and at ease, though I knew she must have travelled several days to get here.
I bowed, my black gown nearly brushing against the parquet floor. I stared at the floor to avoid her seeing my shocked expression. She knows Artor is dead, and she’s come to blame me for it.
“Your Majesty,” I said to the floor, “to what do I owe the honor?”
The queen sniffed. “Sit down, Duchess Florett; this is not a social call. From your black gown, I can see you’ve received the news of my brother’s death.”
She spoke the words casually, as if we were discussing the color of her gown. Which was not black, I could not help but notice. How dare you come here as I grieve! You never loved him—he was a tool to you.
“Did the servants inform you of your brother’s death upon your arrival? That can be the only reason you are not wearing mourning.” My words had more bite than I intended. I had no need for nice words for her now that Artor was gone.
She glared at me and then swept over to a couch nearby and sat down. “I instructed your maid to bring us tea. We must talk.”
My hands were shaking, but I hid them in my gown as I sat down across from her. “I thought you said this was not a social call.”
She did not dignify my rudeness with a reply. “I take it you read my letter?”
I glanced at the letter unopened on the desk, then back to the queen. “I hadn’t the chance. It was kind of you to give me so much warning before arriving while I was in the midst of mourning. It was… generous of you.”
Her lips compressed, and her eyes narrowed. “If there was time to delay, I would have taken it, but given that there is no time to spare, I had to dispatch with the niceties.”
I was opening my mouth to reply when the maid came in with the tea things. Do not let them see your anger. I bit down on my lip and waited for her to serve the tea. The chambermaid’s hands shook so bad from nerves, she sloshed tea over the side of the cup. A brown stain spread across her apron and onto the linen set across the tray. I stood up and took the kettle and the cup from her, with a smile. I must be a gracious hostess. Don’t let her see how she affects you.
“I’ll serve the queen,” I said.
The maid gave me a grateful smile before bobbing a bow and exiting quickly out the door.
I poured the queen her tea and added a few lumps of sugar. Sugar was an indulgence I had denied myself. Sugar and other spices were scarce with trade routes from the north and west cut off by the war. Given the status of my visitor, I suspected my maid thought it prudent to provide our best rations.
I handed the queen the cup, and as I did so, our eyes met. I looked away, disgusted by the judgmental stare I received from her.
“Since you did not take the time to read my letter, I suppose I will need to fill you in on the details,” she said before taking a sip of her tea. She grimaced. “It’s bitter.” She set it down on the tray with a small clink.
“If you must,” I replied as I took a sip of my tea. It was too hot, and it burned my tongue. I choked it down to prove a point, just like I had been choking down the withering gazes she sent my way.
“I only heard a week ago of my brother’s demise. It seems he was stationed with a garrison of soldiers just outside of Keisan, in a town called Redfield. They were set upon in the night by a group of unidentified men, almost every man was slain.”
I stared at the fireplace as I let her words wash over me. “Why do you say ‘unidentified’? Surely they were Neaux—it must have been some sort of sneak attack.” I gripped the handle of my teacup hard enough to snap it. I would rather not be discussing this—anything other than the details of my husband’s death.
“Officially, it was a Neaux attack,” the queen replied.
I glanced at her for the first time. She was sitting with her hands folded in her lap, her gaze focused on me.
“And unofficially?” I asked. My heart seemed to have leapt into my throat. Why did she come here, really? Why would she risk travel in the middle of a war to tell me about my husband’s death when I’ve had it all written down in a letter from the Commander of the Army?
“Unofficially? We are not sure. There was one survivor, and he claims he saw Danhadines before the attack started.”
I toppled my teacup in surprise. The tea soaked the fabric, and the warmth radiated through me. “You mean Artor was killed by our own men. Why would someone do this?”
“That’s what I don’t know. The source is somewhat… unreliable… I was hoping you could help me answer that question.”
I stared at her for a moment, my mouth gaping open. “Why me? Artor never wrote to me about the war. I had not heard anything from him in months…”
She pursed her lips and sighed. “The truth is my brother wasn’t fighting. He was investigating something for the king, and I want to know what it was.”
My stomach dropped. I had suspected as much. Artor kept strange hours when he was at White Crest, our home, and he would often be up late writing letters. Messengers came and went often. He spent much of his time away and left me behind, far from the eyes of court—at first I thought he was ashamed of me, because of my low birth. Then one night I saw him speaking with a strange man in his study. It was past midnight. They were talking about a ceremony or a ritual, I was not certain—whoever he was, he was gone the next day. I tried to ask Artor about him, but he denied the entire thing. After that, I pretended not to notice, but I had long wondered why the king would call forth a man to fight who was more inclined to books than swords.
“What could I possibly do?” I croaked.
“Did my brother tell you anything about his work for the king?”
“Not in so many words.”
She chuckled. “Typical.” For a moment, I saw past her prickly veneer to the woman beneath it. Artor’s sister, the girl he had grown up with. She looked up at me, and the mask replaced her real face once more. “I think Artor was killed to cover up a secret. Anything you know could help me discover what it was.”
I felt cold all over as if a bucket of sea water had been dumped over my head. “Are you saying Arthur was murdered?”
She nodded. I closed my eyes. The truth was harder to swallow than I thought. I had known yet refused to acknowledge the truth: my husband was a court spy.
“Why me?” I asked. “You made no illusions regarding how you felt about Artor and my marriage.”
She stiffened and looked past me and out the window, as if she could not face me. “You were beneath his station. He was a duke, and you were…”
“Descended from Danhadine royalty,” I said. I stood up and walked over to the fireplace. If I was too close to her, I might do something I would regret.
“Your father is a merchant—”
“And my mother was a princess of Danhad. You can discount my paternity, but you cannot deny my mother’s line.”
“Your mother was a princess of Danhad. She gave up her title when she was disinherited for her choice of husband. House Florett is one of twelve, and we have had a place at the right hand of the throne for generations of kings. Artor would have been better to find a less…”
“Scandalous bride?” I supplied.
She frowned. “Someone who could further his political career.”
“Damn him for marrying for love!” I took a step towards her. “How dare you come here and speak so callously of him. He was your brother, even if you dislike me or think I am beneath you. You could at least do him the respect of honoring his memory and wearing the mourning black, for a week at least.” I pointed a finger at her go
wn, with its embroidery and beads. Just the sight of her disgusted me.
The queen did not flinch at my tirade, and I had to admit, I was impressed she could withstand my temper.
“Are you quite finished?”
“No! We are not your pawns. I am not to be used and discarded as you wish.” I would have demanded she leave, but she was still the queen.
“I know we’ve had our differences.”
I scoffed.
She sighed again. “I have nowhere else to turn, no one I can trust. Artor should not have died in vain. I need to know why they killed my brother.” There were tears gathered along her lashes. Despite that, I was not moved.
I shook my head. I could not. No, I would not. This is the world that killed Artor. He was murdered for whatever he was investigating. I had Layton to think of and White Crest. I leaned on the fireplace as I looked away from her, and my hand pressed against the round knot in the center of the oak tree. It moved, and then a small door popped open, revealing a hidden compartment. I gasped. There was something inside. I closed it before the queen could see.
“My place is here with my son. I am sorry, Idella. I cannot help you.” I used her given name as a barb, to turn her away.
That ended the conversation. She would leave, and I would settle into my life as a widow. I need to be here for my son, to watch him grow up.
She sighed again, and the sound grated against me. She was judging me again, and I did not measure up. “I will stay the night and leave in the morning. If you change your mind, you can come with me to the palace.”
I looked her in the eye. “I won’t change my mind.”
She smiled, or something like it. She pulled her lips back, revealing her teeth, but it was more a grimace than anything.
“Before you make your final decision, read the letter I sent you.”
I showed her to the door and instructed the staff to set her up in the best guest chamber. When she left, I walked back over to the table where the letter remained unopened. I picked it up off the table and broke the wax seal. Inside was a note from the queen announcing her arrival, and beneath that was another sealed envelope with my name, Damara, written on it. It was written in Artor’s hand.
Chapter Three
My hands shook. Are these words from Artor beyond the grave or a trick conceived by his sister? I cracked the seal. It was House Florett’s seal, a stylized flower. Pieces of wax crumbled and fell to the floor. It’s old; how long ago did Artor write this? I read the first few lines, and tears clouded my vision. I took a seat on the couch and continued reading.
Darling, it began, I will not mince words because by the time you receive this letter, I will be gone. I imagined a hundred different ways in which I would deliver this news to you. I wish it could have been different. You know how I feel about you, and I hope you will not hold it against me that I do not waste time with long good-byes. To cut to the heart of it, I have for some time now been in secret employ of our king—the past two kings, to be exact. I am a spy. My family has for generations dedicated themselves to the service of the throne. We find information on behalf of the royal family.
I write this to you now because I am leaving on a mission I suspect I will not return from. There are things happening here in the kingdom which I have only scratched the surface of. Darling, if I were not desperate, I would never dream to ask this of you. I need your help. There are those in the kingdom who wish to do harm to us and to change our very way of life. I plan to stop them, for what little good that I can do, and when I perish, find out who killed me and stop them from doing what I suspect they are about.
I promised I would be there for you always, and I am sorry I have to break that promise.
Remember the old oak tree. For there I will be.
Yours eternally,
Artor
I crumpled up the paper, and hot tears slid down my face. Nearly twelve years of marriage and he could not spare a line to tell me he loved me? I was hurt, and more than that, I was angry. I was angry at him for dying, for keeping secrets from me, and most of all angry that he would ask this of me.
He knows I can deny him nothing. That is why he sent this letter to me. He knows I will not refuse.
I looked down at the parchment. Before I could think twice about it, I threw the parchment in the fire. The edges smoked and curled in on the center. His signature remained as the rest burned, taunting me. I watched as my husband’s final words to me turned to ash. I should not have burned it; it was all I had left. I panicked and nearly reached into the flames to retrieve the ashes but thought better of it. What’s done is done. Artor is gone. I stood for a long time, watching the flames with my arms wrapped around myself.
When I had the courage at last, I pressed on the knot in the oak upon the fireplace. The hidden door swung open, and I reached inside. The stones were warm from the fire as I groped within. At first I thought it was empty, and then my hand closed around a warm metal chain. I withdrew my hand, and out came a chain with a pendant. I swung it before my eyes to examine it. A long silver chain, it seemed for a woman’s neck, and the pendant was a silver circle. I flipped it over. The image was an oak tree; spreading branches touched a raised circle that surrounded it.
Remember the old oak tree. For there I will be.
I put the chain around my neck. It settled between my breasts. He’s left me clues, but I know not how to puzzle them out. I threw my head back to stare at the long shadows dancing along the ceiling. What does this mean? An oak tree? A necklace? None of it makes sense. One thing was clear: I would have to journey to court to find the answers.
I waited until morning to tell Idella of my plans to join her at court. She seemed unsurprised by my declaration, which only infuriated me. She played me, and I danced to her tune. Despite my frustration, I could not get Artor’s words out of my mind. If I were not desperate, I would never dream to ask this of you… Artor was a resourceful man. If he was leaning upon me, he must have been desperate. And if I was being truthful, I wanted vengeance; if I found the people responsible for his death, then maybe I could find closure and an escape from my grief.
Arrangements were made for travel. I was to bring my lady’s maids and a few of my household. Prior to her arrival, Idella had arranged for Layton to foster with Duke Ilore. The duke had married King Dallen’s only sister, Princess Florian. They had one son, who was Layton’s age. The child, Prince Adair, was heir to the throne after King Dallen. In Danhad the throne passed to the king’s sister’s oldest son. It ensured a purer succession in case a queen made a cuckold of her king.
”Your son is of an age where he should be fostered out,” Idella had told me over breakfast. As much as I hated to be parted with him, I knew it was for the best. The war was raging, and though White Crest was far removed from the fighting, I would feel safer knowing he was with the prince, who had his own guard to protect him. I will find Artor’s killers and make them pay, and then I will return for my boy.
We arrived at court with little fanfare, not that I was expecting any—who was I but another war widow? Queen Idella arrived on her own a day before me in secret. She refused to have us seen together, in case those I was to investigate grew suspicious of my connection to the queen. I took up residence in the apartments set aside for House Florett at the palace. Artor and I had rarely used them, and the neglect showed. The couches were covered in sheets, and the fireplace was dark and smudged with black from past fires. I walked about the room, my heels clicking on the stone floors. The area rugs had been rolled up and leaned against a far wall.
“So it begins,” I mused aloud.
“What’s that, your grace?” my lady’s maid asked. She pulled a sheet off a nearby couch and shook it. Dust clogged the air.
“Nothing.” I smiled and went towards my room to escape the dust.
The four-poster bed had been stripped of linens, and the curtains were pulled back. I shouldn’t be here. I should be back at White Crest with my son. I should be g
rieving, not chasing shades.
I sat down on the edge of the bed and cradled my head in my hands. I wanted to weep, but to do so would be admitting I was weak, and I refused to do that. There was a knock on the door. I glanced up. My lady’s maid hovered in the doorway.
She was flushed as she said, “There’s a man here to see you, your grace.”
The vultures do not wait long. Who could be here so soon? “Who is it?”
“He did not give his name, your grace. Should I send him away?”
It was strange but intriguing. This may well be my first lead. Perhaps the survivor of the battle of Redfield has sought me out. Maybe this will be easier than I thought.
“No, show him into…” I paused; none of the rooms were ready for entertaining. “Let him know I will be with him shortly.”
“Yes, your grace.” The maid disappeared in a swirl of skirts.
She seems eager. I wonder why.
A gilded mirror was hanging on a nearby wall. I checked my appearance within. My hair was simply done with no artifice. I had lost weight as I grieved. My cheeks were hollowed, and black bags persisted beneath my eyes. I was not at my best, and I knew it. Maybe I should send him away. I tilted my head. A strand of hair fell loose and bisected my face. Perhaps he came now for a reason. I’ve only just arrived, and this is someone who wants to disarm me while I am unprepared. I’ll play his game. Let it be known that I am not a vain woman.
I headed out into the receiving room. My visitor was looking out a window that faced the ocean. He wore a maroon doublet with black checks and gold stitching. The slashes were black, and his sleeves and hose were of good quality. He’s someone highborn, I would suspect, from the manner of his dress. He leaned upon a walking stick, which explained why he was not out fighting like the other men his age. His long black hair was tied back in a tail at the nape of his neck.
“My lord?” I greeted him.
He spun around to face me. His walking stick clacked on the stone floor. He smiled, and his dark brown eyes were rich, and his smile inviting. “Duchess Florett, I apologize for arriving unannounced, but I heard you had arrived at court, and I could not miss an opportunity to introduce myself.”
Duchess Page 2
